


Perception

by Dendritic_Trees



Category: Elementary (TV), Tokyo Babylon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Depression, Gen, No X/1999 canon, Suicidal Ideation, aggressive advice giving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2018-10-22 19:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10703886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dendritic_Trees/pseuds/Dendritic_Trees
Summary: Sherlock thinks magic is ridiculous and doesn't believe in ghosts. But he's not going to leave someone to suffer just because he thinks they're silly.Subaru for the most part, just wants to be left alone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A full explanation of the canon-divergence, since the tags don't really do it justice:
> 
> I've totally ignored the entire X/1999 canon entirely, treated Tokyo Babylon as a stand alone work, and pulled it forward in time to work with the Elementary canon.

When Marcus got back to the crime-scene, the wife of one of the victims was talking to Captain Gregson. Which was unexpected. In Marcus’ experience, unexpected visitors to crime scenes always ended in a headache, if not something worse.

“No, I’m afraid I really have to insist,” Marcus heard the Captain say as he got closer, “I respect your beliefs, I do, but I can’t let civilians into this crime scene while the investigation is still happening. I’m sure you understand that. That isn’t up for debate.”

Marcus caught the Captain’s eye and nodded him away from his visitor.

“So, I called Sherlock and Joan and they’ll be here sometime in the next thirty minutes, something about an iguana. I didn’t ask. What’s that about?”

“That’s Mrs. Nakahara, wife of victim number two. She wants to bring some sort of witch-doctor to perform some sort of I-don’t-know-what of my active crime scene to ensure that her husband is, I dunno, at peace or something and she says _he’s_ going to be here any minute. So, right now I’m hoping that that iguana takes a long time to sort out.”

“Hm,” said Marcus, “well good luck with that, I interviewed the sister of victim three and the husband of victim four. Christie Allen, the survivor, is still in the ICU. She was visiting from Wisconsin and there was a hotel key-card with her things, and I was going to see if I could run that down. Still no luck with the diner manager or the cook, but I figure we can put Holmes and Watson on that.”

“Good work,” said Greyson, “and nice job on finding a way to avoid the… this.”

“Well, I can stay if you really need me,” Marcus offered, not entirely sincerely.

“No, go do some actual police work, I’ll stay and referee,” said Greyson.

“Good luck with that,” Marcus said as he turned and left.

 

———————

 

Sherlock, despite what Marcus had said, bounced out of a taxi ten minutes later, followed by a less enthusiastic looking Joan. Mrs. Nakahara darted forward when the taxi pulled up and then slumped a bit when she realized that it was not her still missing medium getting out of the taxi.

“Captain,” Sherlock called, “the iguana proved more tractable than expected. Any progress here?”

Gregson jogged over to stop Sherlock and Joan up short before they could get to Mrs. Nakahara, “I’m glad you’re here, this is not proving tractable at all. But before you get started Mrs. Nakahara over there has called some sort of medium who’s supposed to show up any minute, and I’m not pleased with it either, but I’ve got enough on my hands already so please don’t make a scene.”

Sherlock, in response, drew himself up very straight and practically yelled, “Captain I respect your position but I will not stand idly by while some swindler takes flagrant advantage of the irrationality of the grieving and you cannot ask it of me.”

The volume he was speaking at totally defeated the entire point of keeping him away from Mrs. Nakahara who, immediately started walking over, presumably to argue. She didn’t actually start the argument though, because someone came careening around the corner. When he skidded to a halt near Mrs. Nakahara Gregson put together that he was, presumably, her medium.

He didn’t look like a medium. Not that Gregson really knew what a medium should look like, but he had definitely been picturing someone close to Mrs. Nakahara in age, or, at least someone as old as Sherlock. The kid currently speaking breathlessly in Japanese to Mrs. Nakahara, bent over nearly ninety degrees at the waist, might have made it out of his teens, but Gregson wouldn’t have bet money on it. He was thin, and wearing a long white coat that didn’t fit.

Sherlock was staring at him in a way that suggested Gregson was about to get a lecture in all the other things _he_ was seeing. But instead, when Sherlock started talking, it was just to translate.

“He’s apologizing for being so late,” Sherlock started, “apparently he was held up at customs and immigration. Now there’s an exchange of condolences. Now Mrs. Nakahara is complaining about us - apparently we’re not respecting his position… ah, he’s an _onmyoji_ , not, for future reference, quite the same thing as what you or I would think of as a medium, it refers to a practice that is virtually untranslatable into English. This will be more like an exorcism, less an abortive attempt to contact the deceased. No less silly, but somewhat less concern in regards to his motives, still concern you understand, but less. Oh, now, she’s complaining about me in specific. Apparently I’m rude.”

“Imagine that,” muttered Gregson.

The kid eventually straightened up, and walked over to them and bowed again. Gregson had no idea what to do about that, so he just stood there awkwardly. Sherlock and Joan both bowed back and made it look totally natural, so maybe it was just him.

“My apologies,” the kid said quietly, “I was not told the police were still investigating.”

Gregson held out his hand, “Captain Tom Gregson, NYPD. These are my consultants Sherlock Holmes and Joan Watson. I can’t let you into the crime scene while the investigation is ongoing, but we’ll see what we can do.”

The kid seemed to find the offer of a handshake just as baffling as he’d found the bow, so Gregson wasn’t surprised when his eventual handshake was brief and insubstantial, “Thank you,” he said, “I’m Subaru Sumeragi. I apologize for the intrusion.” 

Then he turned and bowed to Sherlock again.

“Thank you,” he said.

That seemed to catch even Sherlock by surprise. Gregson could see his jaw drop a bit.

Sumeragi caught his breath, or finished translating what he was trying to say inside his head, and kept going, “Nakahara - Mrs. Nakahara, said you were concerned about my - my honesty. I would hate for someone to take advantage of another person’s grief. I do hate it, I mean. So, thank you, for your concern.”

Sherlock swallowed visibly, “well, always happy to out charlatans when I find them. Its hard to prevent me doing it actually. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have a crime-scene to examine.”

Sherlock breezed past them, pausing by each victim outline, tipping over to look at the underside of tables, and then whirled around behind the counter and started opening drawers. Gregson turned his attention back to the case, and asked Joan about the elusive diner manager. She disappeared into the managers office, whichleft him alone with Sumeragi again.

The kid was slowly trying to disappear into his coat. He had obviously not meant to intrude on an active crime scene ad seemed a bit ashamed. Or possibly he was just recovering from his introduction to Sherlock, even if he had been uncharacteristically restrained.

“Look,” Gregson said, “I have no idea what it is you’re actually planning on doing, so maybe if you could give me some idea of what it is you are actually going to be doing we could find you a place to set up?”

Sumeragi stared around the scene, biting his lip and generally looking distressed. But then, even with the bodies moved to the morgue, there was a fair bit of blood splashed about.

“You going to be okay?” he asked, “I know its a lot.”

“I’m fine, its not my first crime scene,” Sumeragi said quietly, then pointed to a corner at the edge of the crime scene, just inside the tape, but away from the mayhem, formed by a booth where the table had been tipped out of the way, “may I set-up over there. It would be enough space.”

It was eerie to hear the phrase ‘not my first crime scene’ from someone so young, but Gregson put it from his mind and picked his way over and examined the space. Then waved Sherlock over, “you done right here?” he asked.

Sherlock stared at the corner with his head tilted for a moment, then squatted down to stare at the floor, then stood back up, “there were, three to five people here, they upended the table while fleeing, looks like someone ordered baked beans. They were behind the gunman when he opened fire. Okay, done now.” Sherlock vaulted over the counter to return to what he was doing, and Sumeragi slipped into thespace he left behind and knelt down.

None of the nonsense Gregson had been braced for materialized. Whatever Sumeragi though he was doing, it just looked like kneeling down and chanting, and, once he’d been allowed onto the scene Mrs. Nakahara seemed mollified, and left them all to work. Joan came out of the managers office a few minutes later with a book of phone numbers to run down, and Sherlock still managed tocomplete his investigation without once yelling at Sumeragi to stop making noise, or otherwise interrupting him for his own amusement.

Gregson was still debating whether to just accept Sherlock’s unexpected bout of manners as an unexpected gift, or whether it was something he was going to have to ask about, when Sumeragi suddenly went silent, pulled himself up against the bench, and spoke briefly to Mrs. Nakahara and wandered off and Sherlock, with no explanation whatsoever, ran off after him.

 

———————

 

Subaru finished the last exorcism immediately wanted nothing more than to lie down on the ground and sleep. In Tokyo, he would have been given the police report along with Nakahara-san’s request, but instead all he’d had was a letter requesting that he ensure her husband’s spirit was safely at rest, so that’s all he’d been prepared to do. But he couldn’t bring himself to ignore the other three spirits, begging him for peace. So his head was pounding from backlash he hadn’t prepared for, and the watch he hadn’t had a chance to reset yet said it was three in the morning. But he was working under the suspicious stare of the New York Police, and even here he had a reputation to maintain. So he couldn’t rest, but then, he couldn’t anyway, not really.

He pulled himself upright, told himself the floor only looked like it was tilting and went to reassure Nakahara-san that her husband was safely at rest before he left.

He should, in a strange city, have been looking where he was going. But it had been so long since he’d cared enough to do it automatically, and he was so much tireder than usual so he noticed that someone had just grabbed him and pulled him sharply backwards before he noticed that a truck had just zipped past his face without stopping.

“That’s not going to help as much as you think it will,” the person holding his coat said in Japanese.

Subaru tugged himself free and turned around. The person who’d grabbed him was the second policemen - no, he was a consultant, holding a large stack of papers under one arm. He’d been introduced, but what was his name? Why was he here?

“Thank you for your assistance,” Subaru said, and turned back around.

The consultant just followed him around so they were still face to face, “Sherlock Holmes,” he said, “my name. I could see you fishing for it. I don’t think you’re actually especially grateful, but don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you. Never mind.”

Sherlock grabbed his arm and started dragging him back the way he had come, “I have a friend who’ll enjoy meeting you,” he announced, making no attempt to explain his earlier statements, “she’s got something of an interest in Japanese esoterica. Its not her main area of expertise, but it is obviously, yours, and if she finds out I let you wander off without introducing you she may never forgive me.”

Subaru tried to excuse himself, but Sherlock had pulled his phone out and was speaking loudly into it in English, drowning him out, and he could have thrown the grip Sherlock had on his arm, but it would have made a fuss, “Mrs. Hudson, yes, hello, you should come to the brownstone immediately. I’ve just run into someone I think you’ll enjoy meeting. Yes, we’re just getting a taxi now, we should be about twenty minutes, unless there is unexpected traffic, in which case we will of course, be longer. Just go ahead and let yourself in if no one answers.”

 

———————

 

Bell returned to the crime scene just in time to see Sherlock dragging a surprised looking young man in a white coat into a taxi. Mrs. Nakahara was talking to the Captain again.

“What a friendly man,” Mrs. Nakahara was saying, “so considerate of him to take an interest.”

“I’m glad it worked out,” Captain Gregson said noncommittally, “excuse me I need to talk to my detective.”

“Before you ask,” said Greyson, I have no idea what just happened. How did it go with the hotel?”

“Wait, hang on, was that the medium, the kid Sherlock was dragging around?” Bell asked.

“Yes, I have no idea, he just ran after him, I didn’t ask. Joan found some leads into where the manager’s got to, and Sherlock has some supply orders he said he thought he could use to find the cook.” Gregson explained, or, rather didn’t”

“Before he took up kidnapping?” Marcus asked.

“Something like that,” said the Captain, “how are things on your end?”

“Well, I’ve got access to Christie Allen’s things, but so far they don’t look all that informative. But I also seem to have wandered into some sort of strange mirror universe. So who knows.”


	2. Chapter 2

While Subaru tried not to doze off involuntarily Sherlock talked. And talked, and talked.

He’d started off describing the history of the neighbourhood all in perfect, rapid, Japanese, which might have been interesting if Subaru had had the energy to pay attention, but he just couldn’t summon the focus.

A gap in the flow of words roused him, enough to register the taxi was still moving and that Sherlock was staring expectantly at him.

“I, um, beg your pardon,” he said, trying to figure out what Sherlock had been talking about.

“I asked how you were enjoying your first experience of legal adulthood?” Sherlock repeated.

“I’m sorry,” Subaru asked.

“Well, you’re about nineteen, aren’t you?” Sherlock asked.

“In a few days,” Subaru admitted. It was a random question, and a personal one, but it seemed easiest to just answer.

“Well,” Sherlock started again, “while there are rumours going around that it may soon be lowered, the age of legal adulthood in Japan is twenty, but legal adulthood in the United States, unless alcohol is concerned, is only eighteen. So, there, you will not be considered an adult for twelve full months, but here, in New York, you have already been an adult for nearly as long, granting you a preview, as it were, of the experience. So how are you finding it?”

“I haven’t really noticed,” Subaru said, after longer than was entirely polite, “it won’t make any difference to me at all.”

“No, I’d imagine it wouldn’t. Silly question really, sorry about that,” Sherlock said, but didn’t explain what he meant by that. Before Subaru could decide whether to ask, Sherlock started telling a story of a crime he’d apparently solved that involved some difference in legal age and a parrot, which Subaru was also too tired to follow.

By the time the taxi pulled up outside a row of houses, Subaru was thoroughly disoriented and wanted a cigarette and a place to lie down.

“Oh come on,” said Sherlock, tossing the cab door open, “stop wilting. There’s coffee indoors.”

Subaru levered himself himself out of the taxi, thanked the driver and followed Sherlock up the steps. Sherlock waved him through the door and into a front room on the right with a vague instruction to ‘make himself at home’, and vanished deeper into the house.

 

———————

 

Sherlock had not expected Mrs. Hudson to actually beat them to the brownstone, they had made reasonable time, and she was almost always late. Sumeragi was evidently not in any fit state to be wandering about New York City alone, but that didn’t mean Sherlock actually wanted to baby-sit him. So he left him in the library and went to make the coffee he’d promised.

When he returned Sumeragi was sitting in the corner of the couch, staring into space and didn’t move when he walked in. Which was all fairly predictable. Sherlock walked directly in front of him and held the cup of coffee in front of him until he took it.

“Thank you,” Sumeragi said quietly.

“Mrs. Hudson has many virtues, timeliness is not one of them,” Sherlock said to him, “she’ll show up at some point.”

“Please don’t let me keep you from your work,” Sumeragi said into his coffee mug.

“Right,” said Sherlock, “well, I have, financial records, to compare, so, I’ll be just through there if you, need anything.”

Then he retreated into the office, as promised, to look over the financial documents he’d found in the diner, but also to continue the surreptitious googling he’d started at the crime-scene. Sumeragi went back to staring into the middle distance. From the looks of things this fully constituted making himself at home. It wasn’t surprising. Having constructed an elaborate excuse to get Sumeragi alone, he was totally at a loss about how to open the conversation he’d been planning on having in a way that wouldn’t cause him to get up and run away.

 

———————

 

Subaru must have dozed off sometime after Sherlock brought him coffee, because suddenly someone was shaking him, and when he opened his eyes, there was a half-empty coffee mug on the side table next to him and the woman who had been at the crime-scene with Sherlock was leaning over him, frowning.

It took him longer than was polite to put together an English reply, “I’m sorry,” he said, “Mr. Holmes wanted me to meet a Mrs. Hudson, but she’s late. I can go if I’m in the way.”

“Oh don’t worry, you are not nearly the strangest thing Sherlock’s brought home. I’m Joan Watson, we met earlier, can I get you anything? You’re not looking so great.”

Subaru shook his head, mortified by all the attention, “I’m only jet-lagged. I’ll just rest here while I wait for Mrs. Hudson.”

Ms. Watson’s frown only got more pronounced, Subaru wondered what he’d done wrong.

“If you sleep now, you are going to be jet-lagged for your whole trip, have you never flown before?”

She seemed surprised when he shook his head.

“Tokyo to New York is what, thirteen hours?” she said, sounding suddenly much less exasperated, “kind of a brutal first flight. You have to stay up until at least ten and then go to sleep on local time,” she said, “I’ll get you some coffee that isn’t cold. That should help.”

She took his coffee mug without asking and turned on her heel so quickly he ended up saying thank you to her back as she walked out of the room.

He’d barely woken up enough to talk to Ms. Watson and was drowsing off again by the time she returned. She woke him back up by hurling a pillow directly at his face. Subaru looked from the pillow, now on the ground at his feet, back to Ms. Watson, who walked over and picked it back up when she handed him a second cup of coffee. He had just had a cushion hurled at his head by a near total stranger. It was shockingly rude. It was exactly what Hokuto would have done.

“Come on,” said Ms. Watson, “six hours to go.”

She was standing there, hands on her hips, wearing a dress printed with the New York skyline under a sort of flowing violet sweater Hokuto would have known a specific name for. She didn’t look like Hokuto. Beyond a vague similarity in colouration they had no shared features. Hokuto would certainly have approved of the dress, but it wasn’t the sort of thing she would have worn. And she was an adult. Hokutowas never going to be an adult.

But having her standing there informing him he couldn’t go to sleep yet and throwing things at him, made him feel secure, just a little like the way he had been able to feel when Hokuto was there fussing around him and stuffing him into clothes he didn’t really like and harassing him to eat.

“Thank you for the coffee,” he said quietly, because he couldn’t bring himself to explain any of that, and was not entirely sure he had the English vocabulary if he had wanted to.

“SHERLOCK”, Joan suddenly bellowed.

“I’M IN HERE,” Sherlock yelled back.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU. YOU CAN’T BRING PEOPLE HOME AND ABANDON THEM IN THE LIBRARY. WERE YOU BORN IN A BARN,” Joan berated him across the house.

“HE SAID HE WAS FINE,” Sherlock yelled back.

There was a knock on the door.

“OH THANK GOD,” Sherlock yelled, and emerged from the study to open the door, “Subaru Sumeragi, meet Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson, Subaru practices onmyojutsu, which I know you were reading about two weeks ago, I thought you might have an enjoyable conversation.”

Mrs. Hudson was a tall, blonde woman with a warm smile.

“I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Hudson, “I left when I got your call, but then I ran into Michael, and he wanted to talk, and I just couldn’t put him off, and one thing led to another and now I’m late.”

She gave her breathless explanations while fumbling her boots and coat off. Subaru put his coffee down and came around the other side of the couch, “its nice to meet you,” he said, “don’t worry. I’ve been late everywhere today, so its okay.”

Mrs. Hudson held out a hand which Subaru thought he did a reasonable job of shaking.

“That’s such a nice thing to say,” she said to him.

 

———————

 

Sherlock turned on his heel and headed straight back into the office as soon as he’d made his curt introductions and Joan chased after him.

“Do I get an explanation,” she asked, “or are you going to sit there and be annoying until I figure it out myself.”

“Mrs. Hudson has been on an Japanese esoterica kick, something about impressing a new romantic interest I gather, it generally is, I thought she might make a friend,” said Sherlock.

“Right,” said Joan, “so you kidnapped a total stranger, and dragged him home with you, entirely on the off chance that Mrs. Hudson might enjoy meeting him, when the nicest thing you could say about him, less than two hours ago, was that he probably wasn’t defrauding people on purpose?”

“Well she probably will enjoy it,” said Sherlock, he tipped back in the computer chair to look through into the library, “actually they seem to be getting on quite nicely. Also he didn’t seem to take the crime scene altogether well and I thought he could do with somewhere to settle down a bit, so he didn’t do anything impulsive. And anyway, I bring people here all the time, I don’t know why you’re suddenly complaining.”

“Right,” said Joan, “because when you’re already traumatized being dragged all over a strange city where you don’t speak the dominant language, by a total stranger is so helpful. And this is such a great place to relax.”

“His English seems extremely passable actually,” said Sherlock, “especially given he can’t have that many reasons to keep it up.”

It wasn’t the most obnoxious thing Sherlock could have said. He did not - for instance point out that they both relaxed in the Brownstone, which she had set herself up for. She still glowered at him. Sherlock just went back to going through the paperwork from the diner.

“You know I can tell when you’re being evasive right?” Joan said, “that thing where I spend hours deducing the thing you’ve decided not to tell me. We’re not doing it. If you want my help with whatever if it is you think you’re doing, you can let me know with words, if not, I have work to do.”

 

———————

 

Subaru didn’t really talk to people now. Work, all he really had to talk about any more, wasn’t something he could really share. Which wasn’t new, precisely. Hokuto had used to listen, when he’d asked her to, but he hadn’t asked often, and even then he’d tried to spare her the details. Sei - that person - had tended to skirt the subject. But they were gone, and conversations with Obaa-chama were often so painful that it was easier to just find reasons not to have them. Subaru had never really got the hang of having conversations with strangers.

It made for a lot of silence.

Mrs. Hudson was apparently brilliant at it, because within a few minutes of their faltering introduction, they were having an easy conversation and she was working around the gaps in his English, and his social-skills, without pause. She was also incredibly knowledgeable about not just onmyojutusu but at least two forms of Ancient Greek ritual, which she’d been comparing it to for him.

“When did you learn all of this?” He asked, “its not really known outside of Japan.”

Mrs. Hudson blushed, “oh,” she said, “I mean, I picked it up here and there, I don’t really know it that well. Greek’s really more my area.”

“No, you, ah, are very well-informed,” Subaru said.

Mrs. Hudson waved a bit dismissively, “oh, I don’t think so,” she said, “I really just picked it up a few months ago, to impress Adrian - this guy I was seeing, he was a professor of Japanese history but he also turned out to be a total jerk, so that was…” she trailed off, then squeaked, “oh I am _so_ sorry, you must think I am a horrible flakey American dilettante who doesn’t take anything seriously.”

Subaru, struggling to follow the digression, belatedly realized he was was wincing.

“No, not at all,” he said, “really.”

There was a horribly awkward pause. Mrs. Hudson didn’t look convinced.

“I like having someone to talk to,” Subaru offered.

Mrs. Hudson smiled again, all traces of worry had slid off her face briefly, and then came back.

“Are you sure,” she asked, “you’ve gone kind of pale.”

“I’m fine,” said Subaru, “are you okay?”

“What, because I might have made a fool of myself in public? Of course. I do that all the time,” said Mrs. Hudson.

“You said your boyfriend was a jerk,”Subaru started, “so I -“

He’d started to say ‘so I thought’, but he hadn’t thought anything, he just didn’t want to say that he was afraid and he didn’t really know why.

Mrs. Hudson answered by grabbing him and dragging him into a hug.

Subaru froze for a moment, and then just let her because he didn’t know why he was being hugged or how to make her let go.

“Its okay,” said Mrs Hudson, “he was just a jerk. He never showed up for things, and he forgot my birthday, and so I broke up with him. Its all fine. Its just fine.”

She punctuated the explanation by patting between his shoulder blades, Hbefore steering him onto the couch. he wished, fleetingly, that she’d do it again.

“You sit there for a bit, I’m going to make you some tea,” she said.

Subaru had long since lost the train of the conversation, so he just nodded.

 

———————

 

Joan was in the kitchen poring over a pile of paper when Mrs. Hudson came down to put the kettle on. She stood up when she came in, “Mrs. Hudson, I didn’t really get to say hello earlier, how are you? Did Subaru leave?”

“Oh I’m doing great,” said Mrs. Hudson, “Subaru’s still here. He seems a bit fragile though. I made a comment about Adrien - that’s my ex - being a jerk and he went dead white and asked if I was okay. So I’m making him some tea, I thought it might, I don’t know, calm him down. He’s not caught up in some case of Sherlock’s is he?”

“I have no idea,” Joan said, “I mean, not as far as I know, but Sherlock is being Sherlock. I’ll have a word with him about being nice.”

“Would you like some tea?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

“I would love some,” said Joan, “mass murder gets a bit wearing.”

“You have an absolutely terrible line of work, absolutely awful. I cannot believe you do this voluntarily. With the crime scenes, and the blood and the eeeargh,” said Mrs. Hudson with a theatrical shudder.

 

Mrs. Hudson left the kitchen once the tea was made, and Joan went back to combing through dinner financial records. Sherlock must have been rubbing off on her, and not in a good way, because by the time she stopped her tea was cold and when she came back upstairs it was dark.

Subaru was asleep in the library, draped half on and half off the couch. Joan checked her watch, it was 9:15, but she didn’t have the heart to wake him back up over another forty-five minutes. She moved him so he was layingproperly one the couch, and draped a blanket over him. He didn’t even twitch.

 

Sherlock was still in the study, buried in work.

“What is going on?” Joan asked.

“Well, I’m fairly sure I’ve found a link between the diner chef and a drug cartel, but I promised Captain Gregson I’d stop calling him at unsociable hours, so it will have to wait until morning,” said Sherlock, sounding a little peeved about that.

“Not with the case,” said Joan, “I just had the most interesting discussion with Mrs. Hudson. She said she mentioned a jerk ex-boyfriend, and he panicked. He was concerned she would be hurt.”

“Doesn’t speak to particularly healthy romantic life does it?” said Sherlock, idly.

“I’ve changed my mind,” said Joan, “you are going to tell me exactly what is going on right exactly at this moment.”

“Nothing is going on,” Sherlock said, “he seemed upset, I thought Mrs. Hudson might enjoy talking to him, I thought he could stay here until he calmed down. It seems to have worked out.”

Joan crossed her arms, “of course. He was upset, so you decided to bring him here, the same way you do with everyone who gets upset at crime scenes. Oh wait, you don’t do that. Ever.”

Sherlock pressed his lips together and stared sullenly at her for a second while he figured out she wasn’t in the mood to be brushed off. He turned and tabbed over to someone’s instagram account. For a second Joan thought it was Subaru’s and then she realized that the person in the outlandish costumes was a young woman. She stole the mouse from Sherlock and scrolled down a few images and found one of the brightly coloured young woman wearing an eye-searingly pink dress with her arm thrown around Subaru.

“Quite the before and after isn’t it,” Sherlock noted, “that’s his sister. She died about two years ago, but no one’s bothered to deactivate these accounts. Apparently she was quite popular, people keep asking after her. Its definitely murder, I’m almost certain it was serial.”

“What,” Joan hissed, “are you _doing_? No one has asked you to investigate this. Have you looked at him? You can’t just go interrogating people to satisfy your curiosity.”

Sherlock actually pouted.

“My curiosity,” he said loftily, “is fine. I was _actually_ planning on asking if he wanted someone to talk to. Its not the most common life experience. Its just a slightly awkward topic to introduce to the conversation.”

Joan was torn between feeling that she should probably offer some sort of positive reinforcement for what was actually a thoughtful gesture and trying to express how badly she thought it was likely to end. She was distantly sure that Sherlock was probably reading her entire thought process on her face either way.

“You had better be really careful,” she hissed, “if you make everything worse steamrolling over him, I may actually harm you.”

Sherlock just nodded at her as she turned around to go upstairs to bed.


End file.
